One hour of right-down love is worth an age of dully living on.
Nothing is more capable of troubling our reason, and consuming our health, than secret notions of jealousy in solitude.
Faith, sir, we are here today, and gone tomorrow.
He that knew all that learning ever writ, Knew only this – that he knew nothing yet.
There is no sinner like a young saint.
Variety is the soul of pleasure.
Money speaks sense in a language all nations understand.
That perfect tranquillity of life, which is nowhere to be found but in retreat, a faithful friend and a good library.
Each moment of a happy lover’s hour is worth an age of dull and common life.
Love ceases to be a pleasure when it ceases to be a secret.